Do you still love me?
by stoker315
Summary: Frankie reflects on her history with Cat.


Do you still love me?

She turned, just a little, looked at me and nodded. And I have to wonder why.

I'm damaged. I know I am. I never feel loved, but I always want to be loved. I can't stand to be touched, but I always want to touch. I need to be the one: the one with the power; the one with the control; the one in charge; the one who walks away, so that no one can walk away from me.

And now that I know the truth, I guess I have to wonder if it's because I am my father's daughter.

_He_ is always in control.

We're not the same. He deliberately uses that power and that control to hurt people, to create damage.

Didn't I do to Kat? No! T_hat's different!_ I didn't mean to hurt her, and I never tried to control her. I just needed to _run._

I just don't trust anyone… I can't trust anyone… anyone but Kat. That's not even fair… I don't know that I do trust Kat; I want to trust her; I need to trust her… I need her… but even from her, I have always run away.

I wonder if Kat remembers the first time that we touched; my skin burned with her touch! She must have thought that I was mad. She knew that I wasn't innocent…. Just as I knew that she was. And yet, I just couldn't let myself touch her, not that first time that we were together. And it's funny… when I think of it; she is always the one with the power when we are together. I always think of myself as a top, and I always think of her as a bottom, and when we are together that all changes. I can't think when we are together; I am not in control when I am with her, either physically or emotionally.

That first time that we were together, she kissed me, and before I knew what she was really doing, she had her hand inside of my shirt, just holding my chest to feel my heart beat; her second hand held my cheek, and she kissed me. Slow calming kisses, though every gentle kiss made my heart race faster. I can't believe how she terrified (terrifies) me.

I always teased her; taunted her; flirted with her. A "F- you" always received a response of "anytime baby!". A tongue stuck out at her tormentor received a "put it away unless you plan to use it". But the first time she screwed up her courage to act, to touch me, I was the one who was shy. She kissed me first, though I kissed back. She touched me first, and again I responded.

It's funny. She knew what she wanted but had no idea of what she was doing, and yet she is the one who led our first _dance_. And even though it was awful, with bumped heads and inconvenient elbows, in its own sweet way it was the best experience that I ever really had, and the next day, she looked at me with absolute adoration, and I so admired her courage.

I was terrified of her though, in that one awkward evening, she didn't just touch the centre of my body, it was like she had reached the centre of my soul, like she saw me; like she _got_ me.

I think that it was that touch to my soul that made me eventually run away to New York. She looked at me as if I was better than I was, better than I am.

The night before I ran, I kissed her; I was in charge; I was in control. I kissed her and told her that I loved her. I made love to her, at first sweet and gentle, and then needful and passionate. I loved her like I might never see her again, and truth be told, I wasn't sure that I would, though I missed her every day that I was gone.

I laid her out on our bed, and though I wanted to drink wine from the bottle, I poured us each a glass. She lounged on the bed, and I lounged on her. We talked and laughed. And as she tipped her head back to laugh; slowly, so as not to drown her I tipped some wine into her mouth and drank from her mouth. As she drank from her glass, I tipped my glass over her breasts and over her belly. I licked the wine off her beautiful body, and probably licked her and kissed her long after the wine was gone. I wanted all of her; I wanted to consume the very essence of her.

When I finally moved to the centre of her excitement, I followed her need. Her desire set our rhythm. And when she thought she was finished and could do no more, we stayed entwined for another two hours, just loving each other, and touching each other.

I thought that I took nothing that night, but I understand as she looks back at me now, with that ever so slight a nod, and I know that I took her heart.

And I broke it.

And I still need her to love me.

And she does.


End file.
